glugs of amber winelight lay like legs

splayed/splashed/slayed on the glasswood floor
what one might think of as a heavy

smoke-colored cover of clouds is no, is

actually smoke
honey candies on the fresh white pillow case:

the pillow itself the pillow of a woman long dead
 
smelling of that woman’s bed i
lay my deathhead down
Kary Wayson is the Seattle Review of Books Poet in Residence for October.

Previously: My Subjects, My Own Hikmet Poem, and Farthermore.